Frustration
by GirlDrinkDrunk
Summary: A hard-on, a tease, and a promise. But what are the Winchesters without a side of angst?
1. Chapter 1

Dean makes little stretching movements as he's driving. Movements that signal that he's getting tired, or has simply been sitting too long in the same position. First, the neck stretch, rolling his head to each side. Then the shoulder hunch and roll. He flexes his fingers around the steering wheel.

All of these things Sam sees, while pretending that he's still asleep, sitting side-on in the passenger seat with his cheek resting on the leather back rest. His eyes are open to mere slits, ready to close quickly if Dean should look over to him. Dean stills again and they drive for another few minutes before he clenches his buttocks and lifts his hips, no doubt trying to rid himself of a numbing ass. The movement is not lost on Sam. In fact, he quickly realises that he's going to have to move in the next thirty seconds due to his growing erection, and the fact that Dean will be able to tell, if he happens to look at his crotch. _And why the hell would he do that? Relax. I'm the one with the inappropriate brother fantasy, not Dean. Dean would just think that I'm having a really good dream. Not that he'd look, anyway_. He decides not to move; he'll risk it, just so he can keep watching.

A thought comes quickly to Sam, and it develops before he can stop it. Feeling a little reckless, he closes his eyes, shifts a little on the seat with a quiet, throaty moan, and repositions himself with his hand. Then, with a sigh, he settles again, hoping that Dean is buying his Sam's-having-a-horny-dream act. He pretends to sleep for another few minutes, and then – with his head still side-on against the back of the seat – slowly opens his eyes to look at Dean. If Dean is looking at him, he can just pretend that he's waking up, but Sam will catch him looking. He is a little disappointed, as it turns out, to find Dean concentrating on the road. He continues the charade of waking up, and sits up, blinking.

Dean looks over and then back to the road. "Nice dream?"

"What?"

Dean smiles. "You heard me, Woody Woodpecker."

Sam follows Dean's eyes down to his crotch. He schools his face quickly to a frown and a slight embarrassed expression. "Whatever." When Dean chuckles and turns back to the road, Sam allows himself a secret smile. _So he _did_ look. What does that mean?_ Covertly, Sam's eyes trail down Dean's body and he raises an eyebrow. _Okay, big brother, I know the reason for _my_ hard-on; what's _your_ excuse?_ Sam allows himself only a few seconds to hope that it was in response to his little show. When he mentally shakes himself out of that self-destructive thinking, he fidgets a little on the seat to get comfortable.

Dean notices, and assumes it is due to his 'predicament'. "Dude, do I have to pull over so you can take care of that?"

Sam looks at him with a raised eyebrow and the hint of a smile on his lips. "Don't stop on _my_ account. If _you_ need to stop, though, you go right ahead." When Dean turns to him with an incredulous look, Sam smiles. "Looks like I'm not the only one who's been thinking happy thoughts." With that, he looks down at Dean's bulge.

Dean looks back out through the windshield, a little panicked. Then, realising that Sam would never guess _why_ he was hard, he slips back into his regular banter. "Yeah, well, I had a pretty wild dream myself this morning, before you woke me up."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Gorgeous brunette with long legs, magic hands, and a wicked mouth." He grins at Sam, for effect. _You don't need to know that the gorgeous brunette was you, Sammy. _

Sam manages an indulgent smile in return, although he finds himself jealous – again – of another nameless, easy woman in a random town somewhere behind them. Moving positions again brings back their previous subject. "Sure you don't need to stop, Dean? It's probably gonna be a while before we get to Montgomery."

"About two hours, actually," Dean answers. "Passed a sign a couple miles back."

"Two hours is a long time."

"If you can hold out, I can, too."

Sam sinks his teeth into his bottom lip to stop from smiling. "What if I can't?"

Dean glances over at Sam. "What?" He says, surprised.

"What if I can't hold out?"

"You're kidding!"

"No," Sam answers with a straight face.

"What are you, fifteen?"

Sam shrugs.

"You seriously want me to pull over so you can walk behind some trees and jack off?"

"Would you prefer I did it in the car while you drive?"

"You can't be serious!" Dean says, his voice rising, not knowing whether to laugh or panic.

Looking at Dean's expression is too much for Sam, and he finally breaks into a huge grin and laughs.

"You bastard," Dean says with feeling. Although he wants to lean his head against the steering wheel and sigh with relief, he holds on to annoyance instead. "I'm gonna get you for that."

Sam, still feeling a little reckless, baits Dean. "Bring it on, tough guy."

"When you least expect it, Sammy."


	2. Chapter 2

Getting to their destination after four hours on the road, Sam and Dean walk in to the motel room and dump their bags onto their respective beds.

"I'm gonna have a quick shower," Sam says, heading for the bathroom door.

"Okay, I'll go out and get us some food. Any requests?"

"Onion rings or fries," Sam calls over his shoulder.

Dean returns forty-five minutes later with food.

"Took you long enough."

"Small town diners don't exactly do express orders, Sam." He takes the food out of the brown paper bag and kicks the bag under the bed.

_They eat in relative silence, both ready to drop from lack of sleep. Sam smiles when Dean rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms. _

_Sam must've made a noise because Dean looks up at him. "What?"_

_"You're about to fall into your burger you're so tired. Get some sleep."_

_Dean chuckles as Sam yawns immediately after he speaks. "I think we should both catch some shut-eye." _

_"I'm not gonna argue with you." With that, Sam balls up the now empty food wrapper and basketball-shoots it over the kitchen bench and into the sink. He then toes off his boots in tandem with Dean, and lies back on his bed, folding his hands over his stomach._

Just after 12:30pm, in a semi-conscious state, Sam tries to roll onto his side but is stopped. His eyes fly open and he looks up to his wrists, to find them bound by rope to the bed head. Before he can even register an outraged cry, Dean lets his presence be known.

"Good, you're awake."

Sam's head swivels to the sound of Dean's face, and sees his brother's calculating smile. "What the hell, Dean?" Sam growls.

"What?" He replies, casually.

"Don't try the innocent look, Dean, it's never suited you. Untie me."

"No, I don't think so. Not yet."

"What the hell are you doing? Untie me," he says again, his voice rising. He also belatedly notices something else and looks down. "You took off my jeans? What the hell's going on?"

Instead of replying, Dean picks up a remote and points it at the TV.

"DEAN!"

"Shhhh." Then, after a minute, Dean turns back to Sam, looking smug. "You remember when you played a little joke on me this morning?" When Sam simply raises his eyebrows, Dean continues. "I said I was gonna get you back. Well, time to pay up. I think you need a little private time with the boys from C-Company." With that, he presses play on the remote and steps away to push the TV and stand to the end of the bed, just out of reach of Sam's feet.

"Dean, for fuck's sake, untie me."

Dean turns that smug smile on Sam again. "Nope. Payback's a bitch." He then grabs both pillows from his bed and proceeds to stack them in a pile behind Sam, so Sam is sitting up enough to be looking straight at the TV. He ignores the death-ray look his little brother is currently giving him.

When Sam sees the start of the DVD, he rolls his eyes. "You really think putting on gay porn is paying me back? Kinda weak, Dean."

"We'll see." Turning, he picks up the car keys and walks to the door. "I'll give you a little privacy. Have fun." Then, with a smirk, he leaves the room.

Seconds later, Sam hears the Impala roar into life and disappear from the parking lot.

After a few mumbled expletives, aimed at his juvenile brother, Sam closes his eyes and concentrates on something other than the TV, and the stereotypically bad music. He has already discounted the possibility of unpicking the rope with his teeth. Dean must've thought about that, too, since he spread Sam's arms out wide enough that he couldn't reach either wrist. _Bastard_, he adds to the list.

It isn't long before Sam realises that closing his eyes has the opposite effect to the original ignore-it-and-it-will-go-away plan. With a sigh, he opens his eyes and deliberately does _not_ look at the screen.

A whole five minutes go by before the noises and moans and occasional dirty words break Sam's resolve, and he reluctantly looks at the images on the TV. Once he _does_ look, however, he finds it hard to look away again. The faces of the two random men on screen quickly fade, to be replaced by his and Dean's faces, and he can too-easily imagine himself and Dean in that situation; in those positions. He's not gay. It's more complicated than that. _Of course it is…I'm a Winchester. How could it be anything _but_ complicated?_

He suddenly realises that he has bigger concerns in the short-term: if Dean comes back in and sees him with a hard-on – which is fast becoming reality – he will never hear the end of it. He will be teased mercilessly for the rest of his days. _Oh God. I can't let him see me like this. I need to think of bad things. _He turns away to look at the brown and beige geometric squares on the curtains._ Umm…car crashes…burn victims…clowns…_ "Ooh yeah, just like that"…_sick kids…hangovers_… "gonna fuck your mouth, pretty boy"…_crappy motel rooms_…_being alone…Dean finding out that his little brother wants him sexually._ Damnit. He knows it's wrong; he _knows_. His body, however, isn't the one with the conscience. Body: 1; Brain: 0.

When he hears the Impala's rumble five minutes later, he panics, but only for a few seconds; there's nothing he can do now but face the humiliation to come.

When Dean opens the door and steps inside, Sam chooses not to look at him; he can live without the expressions he's bound to see on his brother's face. After a few seconds, he is surprised he hasn't heard any laughter or even a wise-ass remark, but he still refuses to look at him.

Dean stands still, taking the opportunity to look at Sam while his face is determinedly turned away. He sees his little brother holding himself very still and rigid. _Bracing himself, no doubt. And speaking of rigid…are my suspicions right? _

Finally, Sam can't take the silence any longer. He turns his head to Dean and clenches his jaw. "Just get it over with."

"What?"

"The humiliation."

Dean sighs. "I _did_ do this to get you back, Sam, but I had another motive, too."

"Oh yeah?" Sam says, trying to sound uninterested. "And what was that?"

Walking across the room, Dean sits on his bed, facing Sam. "It was an experiment." He looks at Sam intently. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

Sam frowns. _Yeah, I want you_. "No. What are you getting at?"

Dean raises an eyebrow. "The DVD, and your reaction to it?"

Sam looks away. Moments later, as he looks back at Dean's serious face, he realises he's a little confused. Dean's not gloating and teasing like he expected. In an attempt to explain it away, he tries reason. "Jeez, Dean, it was two people having sex. It doesn't matter what gender they were, of course I had a reaction to it."

Although that makes sense, Dean's not buying it. It wouldn't explain Sam's embarrassment as he walked in the door. Okay, the direct approach. "Are you bisexual, Sam?"

Sam's eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to vehemently deny it, when he stops himself. _What the hell…he already suspects. May as well 'fess up_. With a sigh, he drops his eyes to his chest and nods his head.

Dean nods slightly when it is confirmed. "Thanks for telling me the truth." Then, standing up and moving to the TV, he turns it off, before untying Sam's wrists.

Sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, Sam looks down between his knees at the carpet and draws his bottom lip between his teeth.

Dean moves to sit opposite, on his bed, and looks at his uncomfortable, agitated little brother. "You wanna clock me one, don't ya," he says, casually.

"Yeah," Sam replies softly, "but it'll pass."

Dean smiles, but it fades quickly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

That makes Sam look up. "My skirt-chasing brother? Hmm…let's see…" he replies, sarcastically.

"I wouldn't have judged you, Sammy; you should know that."

Sam looks down again and doesn't answer immediately.

"You know that, right?" Dean says, asking for verbal confirmation.

"I wasn't sure," he admits.

Dean frowns. "You know I'm not homophobic," he says, and this time he doesn't need confirmation.

"I know, but I didn't know how you'd react if it was your brother."

"Sam, look at me." When he lifts his head, Dean continues. "This doesn't change anything. You're still my annoying baby brother." At Sam's weak smile, Dean asks, "When did you realise?"

Twisting his mouth and chewing on his lower lip, he pauses for a moment before answering. "I was fifteen."

"Have you ever…"

Before Dean can finish the sentence, Sam jumps in. "No."

Dean isn't sure why he's a little surprised. "Was there anyone you wanted to…be with?"

"Why are you asking me these questions?" Sam asks, his expression flitting between puzzled and wary.

"'Cause now it's out in the open, I wanna know the full story. Answer the question," Dean adds, but gently.

"There is this one guy," Sam says slowly.

Dean interrupts at this point. "_Is_? As in current?"

Sam realises his mistake too late. "_Was_. There _was_ this guy," he says quickly, hoping Dean doesn't question it. "He was straight, though, so nothing happened." He shrugs.

"At Stanford?"

He can't say no; that would prompt more questions. He should just lie and say yes. "It doesn't matter," he answers instead. Something suddenly occurs to Sam. "How long have you suspected?" He asks, with a frown.

"Not long. Maybe a couple of months."

"What gave me away?" Sam asks quietly.

Dean shrugs. "Nothing major. You've been good at keeping the secret; it was just little things, and I wondered if I was interpreting it correctly. Guess I was." _Not mentioning that the 'little things' were the looks you'd give me when you thought I couldn't see you, as well as the times you'd get hard – coincidentally - after seeing me half naked. Am I interpreting _that_ correctly, Sam?_

"Well, I'm sorry if that embarrassed you, Dean. I'll try not to let that happen when we're together."

"It doesn't embarrass me, Sam." Dean sees how uncomfortable Sam is, and rubs his open palm across his face as he wonders whether to drop his own bombshell. _Damn it, if Sam can admit it, so can I_. "Sam," he starts, softly.

Sam's eyes flick up and he flashes Dean with his kicked puppy look.

_Fuck, that's not exactly helping_. "I…uhh…" He blows his breath out through pursed lips, and tries again. "I have my own confession to make. I'm…well…" _Figure it out, Sammy, 'cause it's damn hard confessing something like this. Especially when it's my choice to confess it._

Sam looks at Dean intently, before his eyes get comically wide. "What?" He says with surprise in his voice, thinking he's misunderstood what Dean's trying to say.

Dean's discomfort is increasing, and he unconsciously starts bouncing his leg. "Are you gonna make me say it?"

"Yeah. Just in case I've got the wrong idea. Plus, I think you need to say it out loud."

Dean gets up, suddenly, and picks up the car keys. "I'll be back in one minute."


	3. Chapter 3

Sam is left staring after him as he disappears out the door. Hearing the Impala's door open and close, he sighs, thinking that Dean is fleeing the scene of the crime; that is, until Dean walks back into the room, carrying his nearly full bottle of Johnnie Walker.

Holding up the bottle, he smiles weakly. "Dutch courage." Then, sitting back on the bed, facing Sam, he unscrews the cap and takes a generous drink. A moment later, he hands the bottle to Sam.

Not looking a gift horse in the mouth, Sam lifts the bottle to his lips and quickly downs two large gulps. Before he has chance to lower the bottle completely, Dean is grabbing the neck and greedily drinks again.

"Okay, Dean, out with it."

Dean takes comfort from the warmth of the spirit, and blurts it out before he can think. "I'm bisexual, too, Sammy." As he hears the words out loud, he lifts the bottle again and drinks.

Sam stares at Dean, who looks at everything in front of him except his little brother's face. Sam opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water, just trying to think of what to say. In the end, Dean starts.

"Say something."

"Give me a second; I'm still processing it." Then, as Dean gets to his feet and starts to pace, he asks the same question Dean asked him. "Have you ever been with…"

"No."

"Was there anyone in particular…"

"I need another drink," he answers, picking up the bottle again.

"Was there anyone in particular that you wanted to be with?" Sam asks, not to be deterred by Dean's stalling tactics.

"It's not important."

"Who?"

"No one, okay?"

"Who?" Sam asks again, calmly.

Dean exhales loudly through his nose. _You! You, you, you_. "You didn't know him." _Please, Sammy, don't_. After lowering the bottle to rest on his thigh, he realises he's feeling a little tipsy already. _Alcohol doesn't usually affect me this quickly. Maybe nerves and a racing heart are speeding up the process_.

When Sam holds out his hand for the bottle, Dean passes it over. Tipping the bottle and his head back to drink deeply, he then looks at his nervous big brother as he lowers the bottle to the carpet. "Okay, we've admitted it to each other. Is there a reason we're still trying to drink ourselves into a stupor?"

"Yeah," Dean answers as he leans down to pick up the bottle. "'Cause I haven't told you everything." _Oh Jesus, Dean; what are you gonna do? Tell him? Baaad idea, dude_.

Sam looks at him with a puzzled frown. "What's the rest?"

Dean holds up his index finger in front of Sam. "Wait 'til I've finished the bottle."

"Then let me help you."

Dean holds on to the bottle for a moment before passing it over. They spend the next few minutes in silence, just handing the bottle back and forth.

Sam leaves most of the whisky for Dean, and only takes sips as a result. He realises that Dean needs more 'dutch courage' than he does. Sam, however, is the one to finish the bottle, and he drops it behind him on the bed. He then moves to sit on the floor between the beds and has just enough room to stretch his legs out. Looking up to Dean, he pats the carpet. "Get down here."

Dean gives Sam an 'are you serious?' look but gives in when Sam visually replies with a 'just do it'.

When Dean is seated on the floor, facing Sam, his heart starts to beat a mad tattoo against his ribs, knowing that he's said way too much, and Sam won't let it go now.

"Tell me the rest, Dean."

"Rest of what?" He tries, grasping at straws.

Sam cocks his head slightly and raises his eyebrows. "You're stalling."

"No, I'm trying to avoid this altogether," he admits, looking at the hideous orange wall on the far side of Sam's bed.

"Well, it's not your lucky day."

Dean scoffs.

"Okay, I'll start. That guy…the one I said I wanted to be with…I didn't meet him at Stanford. Your turn."

Dean looks up. "Where?"

"Uh-uh; your turn," Sam repeats.

Taking a deep breath, Dean says, "The guy I…well, I didn't meet him at Stanford, either."

"Funny," Sam says, sarcastically.

"Your turn, Sammy."

While Dean is not slurring his words, his speech has still relaxed somewhat, and Sam ventures a little further with that knowledge. "What do you want to know?"

Dean thinks about that. "What does he have that I don't?" He finally asks, his now-fuzzy head not alerting him to the consequences of what he just said.

"What?" Sam says, surprised.

"Why did you want him? What was it about him that you were attracted to?"

_Deep breath, Sam_. "Well…I was attracted to him, physically…and sexually," he adds, still a little freaked about talking to Dean about this; talking to Dean _about_ Dean. "He had a bit of a dangerous streak, but he was a good man. I dunno, Dean; is that what you're asking?"

Dean shrugs. "I guess."

Sam studies Dean's face, lowered slightly and looking at his boots. "Your turn. Where did you meet him?"

Without looking up, Dean replies, slowly. "He's a hunter."

"Do I know him?" Sam notices that Dean is still staring in the direction of his boots, but his mind seems further away now, and he takes longer to answer.

"I can't, Sam," he says, his voice growing softer. "I can't tell you."

"Why not?" _Is he drunk?_

"I can't; you wouldn't understand, and I love you too much to lose you."

Sam's worried, now. He moves to kneel in front of Dean, and lays a hand on his upper arm. "You're not gonna lose me. What…" Sam stops, his brain coming to a hopeful conclusion. "Dean," he says, slowly, "tell me who he is."

Dean registers Sam's worried tone and looks up at him. Suddenly coming back to himself and realising what he's been saying, he panics and takes a deep breath, trying to move away at the same time. He doesn't get very far as Sam grips both arms to keep him still. "Oh god," he says under his breath. "Sam, let me go."

"No," he says adamantly. "Dean, look at me." When Dean shakes his head and tries to free himself of Sam's hold, Sam moves to straddle Dean's legs and renews his grip on Dean's arms until he gives up and stops moving. "Dean, for God's sake, look at me."

The desperation comes through in Sam's voice, and Dean slowly drags his eyes up to his little brother's.

"Tell me the truth, Dean; please. Is it me? Am I the hunter?"

Dean can't hold Sam's gaze and drops his head again. He feels so ashamed.

Moving his head closer to Dean's, Sam almost whispers, "Do you want me as much as I want you?"

Dean's head lifts quickly, and his eyes widen in surprise. "What?"

"The man I wanted…still _do_ want…is a little drunk right now, and pinned under his little brother. The question is, does he feel the same about me?"

"What?" Dean repeats, as stunned as a deer in headlights.

Smiling softly, Sam takes pity on Dean. "Shall I go across the road and get us some strong coffees? That'll sober us up."

Dean nods. "Yeah, okay."

Sam gets to his feet. Looking down at Dean, he warns, "You'd better still be here when I get back."

Dean nods, numbly.


	4. Chapter 4

The sound of the door closing as Sam leaves seems to be Dean's cue to start freaking out. He gets up quickly, and then stops suddenly, his head making him feel like he's on the deck of a ship. _Fuck_. And then, because it bears repeating, he says it out loud. "Fuck." Walking into the bathroom, he leans heavily against the cold porcelain of the sink and drops his head, not prepared to look himself in the mirror just yet.

"You stupid fuck, Dean. What the fuck possessed you into thinking you could tell him how you _feel_?!" The fact that he didn't actually say the words doesn't matter; in his eyes, what _was_ said is tantamount to blurting out 'I wanna fuck my brother'. He slows his thinking for a moment as he reflects on that. _To be honest, this whole thing isn't about sex. Well, maybe it's a _little_ about sex. Okay…fuck…yeah, sex is a big part of it, but not nearly the most important._

Lifting his head to the mirror, he recalls Sam's last words; not words of anger, or disgust; words of hope and futility at the same time.

He runs the tap and splashes water over his face. Looking back at his reflection, water dripping off his lashes and jaw, he shakes his head slowly. Part of him wants to give in to his 'flight' instinct and put distance between them, but he promised. Besides, if he left now, it would be harder to come back, and he knows he'd have to. He can't be whole without Sam by his side, lover or not. They tried 'apart', and he doesn't ever want that again.

He must have been staring into that mirror longer than he thought because he jumps slightly as he hears the door open. "Dean?" He hears uncertainty in Sam's voice, and closes his eyes in a slow blink before pushing himself away from the sink.

"Yeah," he answers, sounding resigned, and turns off the tap.

Sam sighs in relief. "Got us both a double shot of coffee."

Dean walks into the room and sits on his bed.

Sam watches him, and the little bit of hopefulness he's holding onto takes a battering as he realises Dean can't look at him. "Here," he says, holding one of the take-away cups out to him.

"Thanks," Dean replies, not able to look at more than Sam's hand.

Sam gives Dean some space and retreats to the chair and table by the window. He removes the lid and takes a small sip, just to be doing something. Sam steals a look at Dean and catches a quick glance from his brother, before Dean looks back down at the suddenly-fascinating carpet.

Hating the silence, but not knowing how to start, Sam drinks his coffee. "Ugh," Sam exclaims with a little surprise, looking down into his cup. "I think this is a _triple_ shot."

Dean lets out a small huff of amusement, and looks up again, quickly, at Sam. "Can't handle it, Francis?"

Sam looks up and cocks his eyebrows. "I'm not seeing _you_ drinking." He may as well have said 'I double dare ya'.

Dean, making a point, removes the lid and takes a healthy drink. As he swallows, he makes a face and looks down into the cup like it personally wronged him.

Sam laughs, relieved to be able to.

"Okay, that'll grow hair on your chest." Dean says it to help ease the tension, but that only encourages an image of Sam's smooth, hairless chest. Sam, actually, is the one to snap him out of that thinking when two packets of sugar fly through the air, one at a time, to hit his leg.

"That'll help," Sam offers.

Dean busies himself with emptying the packets in his drink and moves over to the kitchenette for a spoon. He then leans his hip against the counter and looks down into his coffee like he's expecting answers to just rise to the surface.

"Do you need more time?" Sam asks tentatively.

Without looking up, Dean sighs. He's tempted to say yes, but that would only prolong the inevitable. "I don't know what to say. I want answers but I don't want to ask the questions."

"Let's see…is one of those questions 'how do I really feel about you'?"

Dean lifts his eyes to Sam's general direction, and makes eye contact for a second, before dragging his gaze back down to his coffee. "Yeah," he says softly.

"Do you really want to know the answer?"

"Oh jeez, Sam, I don't know!" Dean responds, not raising his voice, but letting the frustration show.

Sam sighs. "I love you," he says simply.

Dean squirms a little where he stands. "I know. Ditto."

Sam can't help but smile. "What's this, a scene from Ghost?"

Rolling his eyes, his finally looks at Sam. "You know I love you, Sammy."

"I know." He pauses for a moment. "But I meant that I'm _in_ love with you." At Dean's startled look, he hastily adds, "Don't bother with all the 'it's wrong'…'we're brothers' blah blah blah…I've tortured myself with that for years."

Dean looks down again; Sam's face is dangerous territory right now. "We had a strange upbringing, Sam; we've always been real close, mainly 'cause we had to be. I've been everything from parent to friend, and you're just confusing that with something else."

Sam gives him a small smile. "Are you trying to talk _me_ out of it, or _you_?"

"I'm trying to make you see reason. It's…"

"What's reason got to do with it?" Sam asks, cutting him off.

"Sam," Dean pleads, although he knows it's falling on deaf ears.

"How do you feel about _me_? Tell me. And if you lie, I'll know it."

Dean heaves a deep sigh. "There's no point…"

"Tell me," Sam repeats, a little more demanding.

"There's absolutely no point in answering that," Dean tries again.

"So, that means that you feel the same way."

Dean gives him a look.

"Just say it, Dean." At Dean's stubborn look, Sam tries another tactic. "Say it or I kiss you," he dares.

Dean's expression of surprise turns quickly into contemplation.

Pushing a little further, Sam adds, "Although, that may be motivation for you to keep quiet, instead of talk."

The tiny smile teasing the corners of Sam's mouth, along with his words, make Dean realise he's gotten himself between a rock and a hard place. It's a lose-lose situation. Tell Sam how he feels, or Sam kisses him. _I'm screwed_. "I can't. I can't say it out loud."

Dean looks so miserable at the moment that Sam takes pity on him. Getting up and moving over to the kitchen, he stands and leans against the faded counter, and looks at Dean. "Let me ask you a leading question, then." When Dean looks up at him, Sam continues. "I'll ask the question I asked about twenty minutes ago: do you want me as much as I want you?"

Dean squirms again – there's no other word for it – and turns away to pour the rest of the coffee down the sink; a good excuse to buy him a couple of seconds.

Sam rounds the counter and walks up behind him, determined not to let him escape the confines of the kitchen until he answers. He intended to also keep a reasonable distance from Dean, for his brother's sake, until he finds himself directly behind Dean, without any recollection of the last three steps.

When Dean senses Sam behind him, he jumps; he didn't even hear him. He has just enough time to turn on the spot before Sam pushes him back against the sink without even touching him.

"Getting rusty in your old age, Dean," Sam comments.

_Okay, there's no way Sam's voice sounded like that by accident; all deep and smooth and…god, I was gonna say sexy_. He takes a breath. "Sam…"

"Yes or no."

Dean takes another breath. "Can you step back a bit, then, and give me some room, Sasquatch?" _Jesus. _His head is screaming _too close_, but his body is screaming _not enough_, and equally as loud.

"No. Not until you answer the question. Unless you'd rather I skipped the question and went right for…" He lets his offer trail off and blatantly moves his eyes down to Dean's lips. He knows Dean understands; that was the point of the exercise.

Dean can't take it anymore and pushes Sam away. As he walks past his unresisting brother, he takes deep breaths, and they seem to actually reach his lungs this time. "Christ, Sam, can't you see how completely _wrong_ this is?" He asks, turning and looking back at Sam, his eyes pleading for him to understand.

"Wrong according to whom? You? Or the rest of the world? 'Cause I don't give a fuck about the rest of the world, Dean, and neither should you. This is about you and me, no one else."

Dean is used to Sam raising his voice when he's trying to make a point, but this level-headed, soft-spoken Sam is different, and Dean realises it's because he _has_ spent years thinking about this, debating with himself; at the same time that Dean was constantly pushing his feelings away. He wants it; _God_, he wants it, but he's scared.

Sam pushes his advantage and slowly advances on Dean.

In response, Dean – not trusting himself right now – backs away, feeling like a coward but needing to buy a few precious seconds to think. "Sam, please."

The plea in Dean's voice stops Sam in his tracks, and he stands where he is, just beyond reach of Dean. He sees Dean take a deep, steadying breath. "Y'know," Sam says softly, "you've told me that I'm confused, you asked me to give you space, you've told me that this is wrong…but you haven't once said that you don't want this." He takes a step closer and stops again. "If you can say that, and convince me that you're telling the truth, I'll never bring this up again."

Dean looks down, knowing that he couldn't convince Sam that the sky is blue at the moment. He closes his eyes in defeat. When he looks up at Sam again, he sees his little brother's sympathetic expression, and he takes a shaky breath. As Sam takes another step towards him, Dean tries one more time, but his heart isn't in it anymore. "Sammy, we…"

Sam interrupts him. "Just…shut up, Dean." With that, Sam takes a last step, until he's inches away from Dean, and he gets no further resistance as his hand lifts to the back of Dean's neck to pull him into a kiss.

Even so, Dean doesn't respond to the kiss; not until Sam's other hand winds around his back to bring him flush against hard muscles and warm body. With a hitch in his chest, Dean's final resistance melts into bittersweet sensation, and he moves to draw Sam's bottom lip gently into his mouth. His arms lift without thought and mirror Sam's, and he gives in totally.

Surfacing for air moments later, Sam moves his hands to cup the curve of Dean's shoulders. "Please don't regret that."

**Evil, aren't I.**


	5. Chapter 5

This chapter's a little shorter than the others but, hopefully, it's better than nothing.

Feedback keeps this story chugging along, people.

Dean tries to pull back but doesn't get far, since Sam doesn't ease up his grip on his shoulders. He drags his eyes up to Sam's, trying to relay stunned outrage, but only managing a mix of disbelief and panic.

As Dean starts to shake his head, Sam understands that he's about three seconds away from losing his advantage. Knowing that he can't allow that to happen, his lips claim Dean's again and he pushes him back into the wall. The kiss is more demanding than the first, with Sam's tongue tentatively seeking entry, before becoming a little bolder to explore with a gentle insistence.

Dean hardly feels the contact as his body is pushed against the wall; his focus is wholly on the sensation of Sam's mouth and his persuasive tongue. When he feels that tongue caress and stroke his own, he moans into Sam's mouth and stops thinking, his hand pressing against Sam's old wound at his back, as his other hand grips behind Sam's shoulder, holding on.

They are both breathing hard as they part. Dean looks up to see if his little brother is as affected as he is. The answer is a resounding yes. "Jesus _Christ_, Sam," he manages, still trying to catch his breath. Sliding his hands away from Sam's body, he drops them by his sides, and suddenly feels the loss of his touch. Without thinking, he licks his lips, still feeling the pressure of Sam's mouth. He can also still taste him, and that has his semi-hard cock twitching with definite interest.

Sam watches Dean's tongue trace his lips and resists the impulse to lose himself in another kiss. "You still wanna fight this?" Sam asks softly, taking a deep, calming breath.

Dean leans his head back against the wall. "We should _both_ be fighting this," he replies in an almost-whisper. His eyes flick up to see Sam's unguarded expression, and decides to concede a little. "But it's not easy when it feels this good." Sam gives him a soft smile, which suddenly turns into a smirk. "What?" Dean asks.

Shaking his head slightly, his smile widens. "You just put a song in my head." When Dean raises his eyebrows, Sam moves his mouth to Dean's ear and sings softly. "It never felt so good, it never felt so right…"

When Sam draws back, Dean looks at him and can't help the chuckle that escapes. "You're singing Meatloaf to me?"

Sam shrugs. His smile fades as he searches Dean's face. "Are you okay?"

Dean's smile follows Sam's. "Fucked if I know," he answers honestly, shaking his head slightly. "There's no more pretending for either of us; that I _do_ know. As for what that means from now…" He shakes his head again.

"Well, I'm fine with any pace you're comfortable with, so long as it's forward, 'cause I can't go back now, Dean."

Dean gives the barest of nods and takes a deep breath that catches in his throat. Suddenly, he huffs his amusement. "I feel like I'm a freaking virgin on her wedding night for Chrissakes!"

Sam answers with a low, soft chuckle.

"It's not funny, man."

"You just feel that way 'cause I took the lead this time. Any time you want to take the reins…" He finishes the thought by stepping back and holding his arms out to his sides in invitation. An invitation he knows that Dean's not comfortable accepting yet.

Taking a deep breath, Dean steps away from the wall and, with a lack of anything else to do, starts to pace. He stops as he reaches the wall on the far side and turns to look back at Sam. "You don't think this is just a little weird?"

"The whole thing, or something specific?"

Dean scoffs. "The whole…y'know…jeez, I can't even say it."

"Incest?"

"Yeah," Dean confirms, his voice low.

"To be honest, I don't care about the incest thing. Yeah, we're brothers, and yeah, it's not exactly normal…" Sam holds up a hand to stop whatever Dean was about to say. "But what we have is different to pretty much every other two brothers in the world. Maybe this wouldn't have happened if we had a normal childhood; who knows? But I'm done agonizing over it. I, for one, am gonna take what I want…what I need…for once, and fuck everyone who can't understand it!"

Dean listens, his expression changing as Sam's voice starts to get stronger, and a little louder. When Sam stops, Dean just stares at him for a moment. Then, in a conversational tone, he asks, "Are you done?"

Sam looks down and quirks his mouth. "Yeah." He looks up again when he can see Dean walking towards him. Stepping into Sam's space, Dean's eyes hold him still, and Sam watches as his brother's hand lifts to let his fingers travel under his hair, cupping his head, and brings their bodies together at the same time as their lips find each other.

This kiss is their most passionate yet, Dean reacting to Sam's words and showing him that he agrees with his brother's sentiment. Dean has always been more eloquent in the physical sense, anyway.

They clutch at each other, finding purchase in hips and arms, and Sam's tongue encourages and cajoles Dean to give in to the moment. It's messy and wet and a little frantic…and exactly what they want.

They both feel the other's reluctance to break the kiss but, for the sake of breathing, Dean is the first to pull away.

Dean tries for a steadying breath, and then another. When he looks at Sam again, it's with a healthy touch of insecurity, and he can't manage to keep eye contact for more than two seconds at a time. "Sam…" Dean stops, his mouth open, trying to form words that he doesn't have.

Sam sees his difficulty. Moving to sit down on the side of his bed, he looks up at his big brother. "Sit down," he says gently, motioning his head to Dean's bed, opposite him.

Dean does as instructed and rests his hands on his knees.

"Okay, now do you think you could look me in the eye?"

With a sigh, Dean looks up. "I'm sorry, I'm just still wigging out a little." He gives a nervous chuckle. "I'm still getting used to kissing my pain-in-the-ass little brother." His smile is apologetic.

Sam can't stop the smile that breaks free. "Yeah, well, it's something that we both have to work on." Not wanting to freak Dean out too much, too soon, and run the risk of him totally clamming up, Sam attempts a compromise. "Look, how 'bout we get in the car and head north. We're not doing anything here." He shrugs. "We could stop for the night somewhere around Memphis. I promise I won't molest the driver," he adds with the hint of a smile.

Dean sees the attractiveness of that suggestion. It gives him time to think, and driving relaxes him. "Yeah, okay. Grab your stuff." _Is it really wrong to hope that Sam_ does _start molesting the driver_? Dean wonders to himself.


	6. Chapter 6

Y'know, I've read this through so many times that I can't tell if it's any good, so y'all will have to let me know. I can take it.  
Every review wins a prize.

"Pit stop," Dean announces after five minutes in the car. As he pulls in to a gas station and cuts the engine, he turns to Sam. "Can you go in and get a six pack of bottled water; I need to flush out the alcohol."

"You okay to drive?" Sam asks, turning a slightly concerned expression Dean's way.

"Yeah," Dean replies quickly, dismissing the suggestion that he's not fit to be behind the wheel. "I've driven when I was way more intoxicated than this."

"I remember. And do you remember me throwing up out the window _while_ you were driving?"

Dean scoffs. "That wasn't because of my driving; you were just as blasted as I was, and you know it. If I knew in advance that dad was gonna come home needing serious medical attention and a trip to the emergency room, I wouldn't have been drinking. Now get me water," he adds with a shooing motion.

Sam rolls his eyes as he opens the door and gets out.

While browsing the shelves inside, Sam picks up some snacks for the drive. With the water and food on the counter, he looks up at the operator. "These, and the gas for…oh damn, I didn't get the pump number."

"The Impala, right?" The middle-aged man says.

"Yeah," Sam replies, his frown disappearing.

"She's a sexy girl, that's for sure."

Sam nods, agreeing, although he's never been able to appreciate anything sexy in the cold metal. What _is_ sexy is the way Dean's hands skim along her sides as he's walking to open the door, and the way he never looks more comfortable than when he's in the driver's seat, his butt not quite flush against the back of the seat as he almost lounges with his legs slightly open…

"Son?"

Sam looks at the man behind the counter. "Sorry?" He says, blinking, and feeling like a fool.

"Forty-one ninety," the man says again, with a bemused quirk of the lips.

Sam hands over the cash and, with a thanks, heads back out to the car. _You're an idiot, Sam_.

Dean settles into driving mode immediately, taking notice of nothing and everything at the same time. Along miles of straight road, Dean takes one hand off the wheel and rests it on his thigh, his baby letting him loosen the reins.

It only takes Sam fifteen minutes before he's shifting in the seat, turning to sit at an angle on the bench seat so he can rest his bent leg on the vinyl. He leans his head back against the doorframe but keeps his eyes half open and on Dean.

Dean feels his gaze but decides to ignore it.

Watching Dean's hand on his denim-clad thigh, Sam imagines his own hand in its place; imagines squeezing his thigh before letting it ride up to Dean's groin; imagines cupping his crotch and Dean slouching a little in the seat to give Sam better access. By the time Dean lifts his hand to grip the steering wheel again, Sam's imagination is peeling away Dean's clothes, one item at a time. First is his over-shirt, followed by his t-shirt, leaving him bare-chested and delectable. The jeans are next, sliding down over hips, strong thighs, and long legs, until he is sitting in his boxers. Sam allows himself a tiny smile at the imagined sight, and the clear outline of Dean's erection pushing against the cotton, both Dean and his cock begging for Sam's attention.

Three miles later, Dean can't keep ignoring Sam's attention, and he sighs. Without taking his eyes off the road, he says, "Dude, you're staring."

"Yeah," Sam answers lazily. "Got a problem with that?"

_Yeah, it's fucking distracting as hell_. Trying to deflect with humour, he smirks a little as he counters with, "Undressing me with your eyes, little brother?"

"No. I've gone way past the undressing part."

Just like that, Dean's smirk disappears. "I don't think I wanna hear any more."

"Yes you do, you just don't want to admit it. In fact, I bet you're dying to know exactly what I'm thinking."

Dean sighs dramatically. "Sam," he starts, with a subtle shake of the head, "this is…well, it's hard for me, okay?"

Sam doesn't want to shut Dean down when he's talking about it, so he decides not to call him on the double meaning. "I know you want it, Dean; you've shown me that you do. So what's the problem?"

Turning his head and giving Sam his best 'are you crazy?' look, he answers with the obvious. "Uh, how about you're my brother?"

"And?" Sam says, deliberately baiting Dean.

Dean takes his eyes off the road again for a moment. "_And_? And…it feels weird touching you and kissing you," he admits with a lowered voice.

"But it feels good, too, doesn't it." When Dean doesn't reply, Sam repeats, "Doesn't it."

"Yeah, okay, it feels good," he says reluctantly.

Sam watches him and offers up a consolation for both of them. "How 'bout I make a deal with you." At Dean's quick glance and raised eyebrows, Sam continues. "I won't talk about…this…for the rest of the day, if you do something for me now."

Dean is wary of asking, but he knows he has to. "What do you want me to do?"

"Kiss me."

Dean looks across the seat. "Now? Jeez, Sam, I'm driving, if you hadn't noticed," he says, the tone of his voice attempting to disguise the fact that he really doesn't hate the idea.

"It's a wide shoulder, Dean," Sam replies, motioning with his head to the side of the road.

"Yeah, and very public."

"Dude, people are driving past at seventy miles an hour; I doubt too many people are gonna notice. Look, just forget it," he adds, resigned, thinking he's pushed it too far.

Dean doesn't like to see that expression on Sam's face; the one that says that Sam is shouldering the blame, again. Three seconds later, Dean looks in his mirrors before decelerating and pulling onto the shoulder.

Sam manages to hold back the relieved smile threatening the corners of his mouth.

Coming to a stop, and putting the car in park, Dean looks over. "You gonna make me do all the work? Get over here." He tries to sound gruff, but it falls short of the mark. Watching Sam's surprisingly shy smile as he shifts closer to him, Dean suddenly wants this very badly, and little Dean wants to actively participate.

With his left leg still bent and resting on the seat, Sam leans in until his chest is pressed against Dean's arm, and his hand is exactly where he imagined it minutes before, covering Dean's thigh.

"For the rest of the day, Sam," Dean warns.

"Promise," Sam says, squeezing his thigh very slightly.

Seeing the warmth in Sam's eyes makes it hard for Dean to keep a check of his emotions, which he still feels like he needs to do. _Damnit_, he thinks to himself, knowing that it's only a matter of time before they all come flooding out to damn them both. With a silent sigh and a thudding heart, he leans his head back a little and meets Sam half way.

What starts as a relatively harmless kiss turns into something more as Sam gently encourages Dean's full involvement with lips and gentle hands and pressing bodies. All thoughts of staying in control seem to escape out the window when Dean feels Sam's mouth start to demand a little more. The wet heat and easy glide of lips and tongues has Dean forgetting that he's on the side of a highway, and he relaxes into the feeling.

A quiet moan of surrender vibrates from Dean's throat and, in response, Sam grabs the back of Dean's head and pulls him in, impossibly closer, deepening the kiss but never losing the intimacy to the physicality.

While they're caught up in their kiss, a passing motorist plants his hand on the horn and Dean jumps guiltily, pulling away.

Sam smiles. "They weren't beeping at us, Dean."

"Yeah, well…we'd better get back on the road, anyway," he answers, a lot less comfortable than he was ten seconds ago.

They arrive in Memphis at 7:15pm, after four and a half hours of silence and small talk, avoiding the main – and inevitable – conversation.

Dean drops his bag on his bed and opens it up, looking for a clean top.

Meanwhile, Sam sits on his own bed, opening the laptop.

Dean sees Sam moving the pillows behind him so he can lean against the bed head. "Don't bother getting comfortable, Sammy, 'cause we're going out for a drink."

Sam looks up and raises his eyebrows. "You haven't had _enough_ to drink today?"

He gives Sam a long look. "Just a couple of beers; is that too much to ask?"

Sam opens his mouth to reply, but the sight of Dean removing his shirt and t-shirt makes him forget what he was going to say.

Dean wasn't intending to try to distract Sam into shutting up but, realising his brother's attention is on him and his soon-to-be discarded tops, he smirks. Reaching his hands up to the back of his t-shirt, he stops and waits 'til Sam's eyes find his. "You know, Sammy, if I realised that taking my top off would've shut you up, I'd have walked around half naked more often."

The smile on Sam's lips grows to a matching smirk. "If you _did_ walk around half naked more often, you would've gotten yourself jumped a long time ago."

Gravitating towards the nearest bar, they get themselves a beer and, with a nod to the back room, walk over to the pool tables. While watching a game of pool, Dean and Sam are invited to partner up to play two men who just finished a game.

Dean answers for Sam when he puts down his beer and picks up a cue from the rack behind them.

Sam sighs but the sound is easily lost under the noise of the patrons.

The men introduce themselves as Luke and Pat, and Sam guesses their ages as a year or two older than Dean. Pat and Dean negotiate a small wager and the money sits on the side rail, with the chalk as a paperweight.

Pat breaks and immediately pockets a solid. Sam watches both Dean and Luke take their shots. Sam's turn is last. Looking at the placement of the balls, he realises he won't be able to sink one, so he hits the white with a soft touch, so it just hits his ball, ensuring Pat is snookered. When he stands, he looks over the table to see a silent but smirking Dean leaning against his stool. Sam hopes the warmth in that look isn't only saying 'well played'.

As Sam sits back on his stool, Luke moves to sit next to him and engages him in conversation. They talk about pool and how he and his friend are going to beat the pants off Sam and Dean. Sam recognises it as a psych-out tactic and smiles in response. "Maybe," is all Sam says. When the man lowers his voice to a more intimate level and pushes his shoulder against Sam's as he leans in closer, Sam gets wary, and wonders whether Luke's statement wasn't a little more literal. All the same, he doesn't make a big deal out of it. _He'll get bored when I don't respond_. Luke then stands up to take his shot and pockets his ball, before failing to hit the white on the next shot. As Sam moves past him to take his shot, Luke turns to sits back on his stool, and watches Sam as he leans over the table, sweeping his eyes up and down his strong, lean form. As his eyes lift over Sam's back, he is met with Dean's unsmiling, steel gaze, and his small smile slides off his face. Dean, very subtly, shakes his head. The man knows that he's being warned off Sam and he chooses to heed the dark intent in Dean's eyes.

"Well, that will pay for accommodation and meals for tonight and tomorrow at least," Sam says as they make their way back to the car. When Dean doesn't respond, Sam turns to him as he leans against the passenger door. "What?" He asks, frowning.

"Nothing," Dean answers, shaking his head. Instead of walking around to the driver's side, he stops a few feet from Sam, looking down at the front wheel.

"Dean."

"You know he was flirting with you, right?"

"Luke? Yeah, I knew."

"You didn't seem to mind it."

Sam shrugs. "He wasn't hurting anyone, so I didn't make anything out of it."

"_I_ wanted to hurt _him_," Dean mumbles, turning to lean against the car.

Sam's resulting thousand-watt smile could light a small town, and his eyes slant in amusement. "Yeah?"

Dean looks up at the tone of that one word. "God," he says under his breath, "I sound like a jealous boyfriend."

"Yeah, you do. But you don't need to be, 'cause Luke gave up after a while."

"Only because I warned him off."

Sam hears the possessive tone in Dean's voice. His smile still firmly in place, he looks at Dean. "I appreciate it," he says softly.

"Yeah?" Dean asks, wanting to be sure that Sam wasn't playing games with him.

"Yeah. And if you were up for it, I would've taken you back to the motel to show you how _much_ I appreciate it."

"Yeah?" This time, the word is said with interest.

Sam nods, a ghost of a smile lingering in the corners of his mouth. He watches Dean's expression as he contemplates it. Then, he sighs as he interprets when Dean chooses to deny himself yet again. "Come on," he says, resigned, and pushes himself away from the door to open it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Next morning.**

Before he even opens his eyes, he hears the water of the shower, and his imagination immediately kicks in with vivid images of Dean's wet, naked body. He groans and reaches for the pillow next to him, smothering his face. In that position, he doesn't hear the shower shut off, or Dean's re-entrance into the room.

Dean walks out, head down as he's towelling his wet hair. When he looks up, he stops at the sight of Sam on his bed, sheet pooling at his feet.

Dean is standing close to the foot of Sam's bed, looking directly at him. His eyes trail down from where Sam's head is buried under the pillow, down his naked chest to his boxers, and taking an extended pause at his crotch, framed beautifully between his bent knees. _God, he's hard_, Dean thinks, and it's like his feet have grown roots; he can't move. It is a view that he could never tire of. As he watches Sam's big hands unclench the pillow, he screams at himself: _Move, damnit!_ He does so, just in time to pretend he wasn't practically drooling over his little brother's body, and uses the towel in his hand to avoid looking at him as he makes his way over to his own bed.

Sam lifts the pillow off his face and registers Dean's presence a second after he realises that the shower has stopped. His head turns quickly to Dean and he takes a breath before he manages a reasonably calm question. "Did you leave me any hot water?"

"Uh, yeah, I wasn't in there that long." _Just long enough to wash, shampoo, and whack off, Sammy_, he adds to himself.

"Okay." Getting to his feet, he stifles a groan as his hard-on reacts to the sudden movement. Rifling through his bag, he then disappears into the steam-filled bathroom.

Dean takes a deep breath and sits down on his bed.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam offers to go down to the market to get supplies.

"Gonna get breakfast too?" Dean asks.

"Yeah."

"Taking the car?"

"No, it's only three blocks down."

When Sam leaves, Dean lets himself think back just five minutes, when Sam came out of the bathroom wearing only his jeans, unbuttoned. _Thank God he wasn't going commando, or I might have jumped him right there_. As he watched Sam comb back his damp hair with both hands, he couldn't help but watch the play of biceps and pecs in that one move. He's not sure whether Sam did it on purpose, but he'll be damned if he didn't want to lick every square inch of his brother's shower-warmed skin.

Sam is halfway to the store when he checks his wallet and realises he doesn't have enough money. With a sigh, he turns around, hoping Dean has some cash so they don't have to use one of their illegal credit cards.

Opening the motel door, he immediately freezes at the sight in front of him.

Dean also freezes for a second, before springing into action. He tries to tuck himself back in his boxers at the same time as getting off the bed, with the sole intention of blockading himself in the bathroom.

Sam beats him to the door. "Dean, stop," he says a little louder than necessary, and grabs Dean's arms, bracing his own arms against Dean's strength. When Dean stops pushing and closes his eyes in defeat, Sam wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around him and reassure him. Instead, he releases his grip and slides his hands down Dean's arms before letting go. "Hey," he says softly, "why the scared rabbit routine?"

At that, Dean's eyes open, and he gives Sam a half-insulted, half-defiant look. "I'm not scared of you, baby brother." He's not angry, though, just unwilling to admit his vulnerability. He turns and walks back over to his bed, doing up his jeans in the process.

"Not of me, no; of the situation. There's no rule book for this, Dean, and we're both majorly freaked about it."

Dean turns. "You're freaked, _too_?" He asks with some surprise.

"Of course I am," he answers, with a breath of a laugh. "You're not alone in any of this." Sam takes a breath and exhales noisily. "As I've said, I'm way past denying that I want you, but I don't know how to get past this…_this_," he says, motioning back and forth between them with his hand.

Dean's mouth quirks. "That actually helps."

Sam sits heavily on the bed and then falls back, the mattress bouncing briefly under his weight. Turning his head to Dean, who is still on his feet on the other side of his bed, he broaches the subject. "So, are we gonna acknowledge what I walked in on?"

Dean looks over to him before dropping his eyes. "You know what you walked in on."

"Yeah, but the question is, can you say it out loud?"

Sighing, Dean brings his hand up to rub at a non-existent ache on his neck as he studies the carpet. Showing a little frustration, not aimed at anyone but himself, he looks up, with a sarcastic, "I dunno, Dr Phil, can _you_ say it out loud?"

Sam sits up and swings his legs to the side of the bed. "Yeah." Going for the direct approach, for lack of anything else to try, Sam speaks openly. "I think you were picturing me when you were stroking yourself. I think you were imagining all the things you'd like to do with me and it got you hard, so you thought you could take care of it before I got back." Sam quirks an eyebrow, challenging Dean to refute any of that. Pressing his luck, he continues, with a quick look at Dean's crotch. "I know you're still hard, and I think you're still imagining those things." Dean's guilty look confirms it.

Dean takes a couple of deep breaths and turns away, belatedly hiding the evidence of his arousal. He hears the bed springs creek softly but doesn't move. When he feels Sam behind him, and then a hand on his shoulder, Dean forces himself not to dissolve on the spot.

Sam sighs; he has finally had enough. Gripping Dean's shoulder hard, he pulls him around to face him and then pushes him roughly onto the nearest bed. Before Dean can register more than a surprised look, Sam is covering his brother's body with his own and pinning Dean's arms to the mattress with his big hands. "Now," Sam starts, playing his 'I'm bigger and stronger' card, "since the only time you seem to respond to me is when I have you pushed up against something, this is how we're going to continue this discussion."

Dean, suddenly, can't seem to draw in enough air into his lungs, and Sam's weight is only one of the reasons for it. He is also scared – not a word Dean Winchester allows, normally – to go through this with Sam, only to realise down the track that it was the worst idea in the history of bad ideas. Not to mention the fact that Sam is – almost painfully – pushing down onto his erection. Unfortunately, little Dean registers that almost-pain as more pleasure, and he has to fight from trying to get a little friction going.

"Dean," Sam says, losing the authoritative voice to appeal to his brother, "you know that this thing between us is gonna happen, no matter how hard you try to play the martyr, so you may as well let yourself have it now." After a moment, Dean nods his head, and Sam sees his open expression; an expression that belongs on someone a lot younger and a lot less world-weary. Sam can't stop himself – doesn't _want_ to stop himself – from lowering his head to lay a sweet, lingering kiss on Dean's waiting lips.

Dean's heart constricts as he feels the love in that simple kiss. As Sam pulls back, Dean's first thought is _Not enough_. Well, whaddaya know? His brain seems to be losing the argument with his body. He blinks a couple of times, willing the dizzy feeling to disappear. "Sam," he whispers, because whispering just seems right at the moment.

"Yeah?" Sam whispers back.

"Can you let go of my arms? I'm not gonna bolt."

"Sure." Lifting his hands, one at a time, he pushes down on the mattress either side of Dean's chest.

They then look at each other for a long minute before Dean moves a hand between them and pulls on Sam's shirt to bring him closer again. "Do me a favour?" He asks, still talking softly. At Sam's raised eyebrow, Dean says, "Kiss me like that again."

Sam's smile is bright as he closes the last four inches between them. The kiss is just like the last one: slow and sweet, with no searching tongues. Like two new lovers sharing their first kiss.

Dean's arms hold Sam to him, with one open hand lost in Sam's hair, while the other grips the back of Sam's shoulder.

They surface for much needed air, but Sam doesn't move back. "Shut. Your. Brain. Down." Sam says slowly, his words ghosting over Dean's reddening lips.

Dean can't help it; he moves his head to the side and starts to chuckle.

"What?" Sam asks, frowning, but with the hint of a smile.

"Man, role reversal. _You're_ usually the one thinking too much."

Sam _does_ smile then. "Yeah, well, I've made my peace with this, and it's time you did, too."

"Yeah," Dean replies, sobering a little. "I know."

"You've always been a hedonist at heart. You know, if it felt good, do it."

"It's a little different when 'doing it' means fucking your baby brother."

Sam lowers his head to whisper in Dean's ear. "What about if that baby brother is hot for you, and wants you to take advantage of his eager body?"

Dean looks up at him as Sam lifts his head, and sees the small, playful smile on his lips. His eyes, however, show no teasing. Neither of them speak for a moment as they seem to hold a wordless conversation with each other.

'_I want it._'

'_So take it._'

Dean's cock reacts to Sam's silent words exactly the same as if they were said aloud and twitches in its cotton and denim confines. Without thinking, Dean's hips lift slightly in response, with a bitten off – but not unheard – whimper, and Sam's expression immediately changes. The corners of his mouth turn up to give Dean a smile filled with exciting promises. At the same time, Sam lowers his eyelids slightly and fixes him with a look of intent that does nothing to slow down the blood flow to his cock.

"Penny for your thoughts," Dean says in between deep breaths.

With his smile still in place, Sam answers. "I was just wondering how to get that stabbing pain in my stomach to go away."

"You want it to go away?" Dean asks, feigning a hurt expression.

"Yeah, after I've licked the last of your come from my lips."

"Fuck, Sammy, that's naughty!"

Sam laughs.

"But I like it," Dean adds quickly, with a smirk. To prove it, Dean pulls Sam back down on top of him and attacks his mouth, finally able to shut his brain down.

[Do you think this is a good story ending? Or is it too evil to submit 7 chapters with no sex?]


	8. Chapter 8

**Mid morning**

"Spit it out, Dean."

Dean keeps his head down, but lifts his eyes to Sam. Biting lightly on his lower lip, he searches for the right words. At a complete loss, he shifts uncomfortably in his seat before he shakes his head. "I want…" Not able to find the right words, he exhales and slumps his shoulders. "I don't know how to do this, Sammy," he says finally, appealing to his little brother.

"Just say it," Sam replies, conveying his supposed ease and patience with the fundamental change in their relationship. "It doesn't matter if the words are right; I'll understand. Plus, you know I want this at least as much as you do, so I'm not going to make fun of you."

Dean takes in Sam's warm, genuine expression and, suddenly, the words tumble out, albeit in a hushed tone. "I want to get to know you; your body, your reactions, what you like. Just…just taking our time." He looks down, even as he's rolling his eyes, thinking he sounds all kinds of stupid, when Sam's hand rests on top of his. Dean's eyes flick up, and then to the side, wondering if anyone's looking. They're having a chick moment in a diner, for cryin' out loud. "Maybe we should…" Dean finishes that sentence with a subtle tilt of his head towards the front door.

"Okay."

As Sam stands in front of the motel door, fishing the keys out of his pocket, Dean leans his shoulder against the doorframe and lets his eyes lightly travel over the too-many layers covering his brother's torso. Lightly? Who's he kidding? If his look had a physical force, Sam would be pressed flat against the door, back against the red paint, and at the mercy of Dean's hungry gaze.

Peripherally, Sam can see Dean's eyes on him, and he turns his head as soon as the key slides into the keyhole.

The incredible warmth in Sam's eyes has Dean weighing the pros and cons of kissing him right where he stands. _No PDA, Dean_, he reminds himself, and he drags his eyes down to the key. "You gonna turn that thing, or are you using the force, Luke?" He asks conversationally.

Sam's slow smile does nothing to ease the tension but it _does_ seem to get him moving again, much to Dean's relief.

When they get inside, Dean pulls one of the vinyl-covered chairs away from the table and sits down, opening the laptop in front of him and looking for a distraction. "I'll have a look for possible jobs within the city; although, why I think our luck is gonna change now…"

"Dean."

Dean turns his head to the side, where Sam is sitting on the end of Dean's bed.

"That can wait."

Knowing it would be a wasted exercise to disagree, especially because they both know it is a stalling tactic, Dean takes a breath and lets it out in a sigh as he looks down and leans back in the chair.

Sam moves, positioning another chair in front of Dean, and sits down, two feet away.

When Dean raises his eyes, they look at each other for a long moment, before Dean breaks eye contact and looks down with a smirk.

"What?"

He looks up again, smirk still in place. Shrugging his shoulders, he says, "Okay, what now?"

"Tell me what you want," Sam answers, leaning forward slightly with his hands resting between his knees. His smile disappears, but the warmth is still there, along with a touch of uncertainty.

Dean looks at him for the span of two breaths before he smirks again.

Sam quirks an eyebrow. "Use your words, Dean," he says, smiling.

"What do I want?" He scoffs. "That's like standing a starving man in front of a buffet and asking what he wants. His answer is going to be 'everything'."

Sam's smile transforms his face. "Okay, point taken. So, what do you want right now?"

_Everything_. "You letting me take the reins, Sammy?" He asks, eyes sparkling with his tease.

"Yeah," Sam answers simply.

_No turning back now_. "Well, then…" Dean turns his chair to face Sam and takes advantage of Sam's open legs by moving so that his knees rest either side of Sam's left thigh, which positions his crotch a mere inch from Sam's knee. Leaning forward a little, he beckons Sam closer and slides a hand behind Sam's neck as he captures his mouth. Dean may have intended the kiss to be a leisurely playing of lips and tongues but, as Sam's tongue becomes a little more adventurous, Dean goes with it, and his other hand wraps around Sam's bicep.

When Sam moans into Dean's mouth, Dean responds favourably by rolling his hips to make contact with Sam's knee. Dean's answering moan escapes a moment later as he feels the pressure against his crotch.

Pulling back together, they catch their breath and look at each other. Sam senses a reluctance in Dean; not a reluctance to go any further, just in taking the lead when it comes to anything beyond kissing. He follows his theory and pushes his chair back a little to stand up. Still maintaining eye contact with Dean, he moves to stand in the walkway between Dean and his bed. "Watch me," Sam says quietly.

Dean nods his head. He assumes that Sam felt his hesitation, and the reason for it, and he's grateful to him for initiating the next step. "Okay."

With Dean's assent, Sam lifts his hands to undo his belt. He takes his time; although he isn't going for striptease-slow, he doesn't want to give Dean the impression that he wants fast and frantic, either. Not for their first time. With his belt open, Sam then slips off his over-shirt and peels off his t-shirt. Next, he unbuttons his jeans and pushes them down and off, before sitting back on the chair in his boxers. "Your turn," he says softly.

Dean pushes his own chair back, to separate them a couple of feet, and stands. He starts to peel away his own layers of tops but keeps his t-shirt on for the meantime. He stops and looks at Sam before he reaches for his belt.

As he watches Dean take a deep breath, Sam jumps in. "Just remember, Dean, whatever you're feeling, I'm feeling the same." Sam gives him a little, reassuring smile, and it seems to have the desired effect.

A corner of Dean's mouth quirks and he looks down briefly. As he looks up again, he says, "Thanks for saying that."

Knowing that any more sincere moments like that would have Dean squirming, and coming back with a vaguely annoying wisecrack, Sam injects a little humour. "You're welcome. Now get your jeans off."

Dean huffs his amusement and his fingers move to the button on his denims. He loses a little of his uncertainty as he watches Sam lean back in the chair and look at him appreciatively. Pushing his jeans down his legs and stepping out of them, he stands there in his boxers and t-shirt and sees the kaleidoscope of emotions on Sam's face. As he reaches for the hem of his t-shirt, Sam shakes his head and beckons him close.

With a raised eyebrow, Dean takes the couple of steps needed to stand in front of Sam.

"Straddle my lap," is all Sam says.

Dean hesitates for only a second before moving to do as instructed, sliding forward to sit over Sam's slightly parted legs, and letting Sam take his weight. Amazingly, the few smart-ass comments that this position immediately brings to mind don't make it past Dean's lips; instead, he decides to let them go in favour of following Sam's lead.

Sam's hands travel up to the hem of Dean's t-shirt and slip underneath the material, bunching it up as his fingers explore hips and waist. When they reach Dean's ribs, Sam notices that Dean is breathing a little harder, and their eyes meet as Sam looks up. "Take it off," he says quietly.

Reaching up behind his neck, he pulls the material up. As he reveals more and more skin, Dean feels Sam's hands follow its journey, and closes his eyes for a brief couple of seconds as he lifts the shirt over his head. Letting the shirt drop to the floor, Dean hesitates. If he were with a woman, Dean would be confident and smooth, and know exactly what his partner wanted. But this is Sam; the person he cares about more than anyone else in the world; not to mention undeniably male, and his baby brother. The concern must show on his face because Sam's expression alters slightly and he sighs.

"Y'know, Dean, there's only so much encouragement I can give without thinking I'm pushing you into something."

Dean frowns. "You're not pushing me into anything." Then, giving Sam the tried and true Dean Winchester reassurance, he lowers his head and kisses Sam for all he's worth. Sinking into Sam's responsive lips, Dean's hands rest on either side of Sam's neck as he strokes Sam's tongue with his own and deepens the kiss, gradually becoming more insistent. As Sam wraps his considerable arms around Dean and brings him flush against his chest, Dean's hips instinctively rock against Sam's, and their synchronised groans add oxygen to the flame.

Dean eventually slows his welcomed assault on Sam's mouth and breaks the kiss with a series of smaller kisses, both of them obviously regretting the need for air. Dean pulls back just enough to look into Sam's eyes. "Don't ever think that you're pushing this on me. I want this just as much as you do. Got it?"

A smile tugs at the corners of Sam's mouth. "Got it."

"Good."

Sam's smile widens as his eyes crease in amusement. "Show me."

Dean leans back a little to look at him, trailing his hands down Sam's arms. "You want me to prove myself, Sammy?" He asks, lowering his voice.

"Yeah," Sam answers softly, looking up into Dean's changing expression as his hands slide down the curve of his lower back, stopping as he squeezes Dean's buttocks. Sam sees the beginning of Dean's small smile before he lowers his head to whisper in Sam's ear.

"You've wanted to do that for a long time, haven't you."

"What, grab your ass?"

"Yep."

"Oh yeah," Sam replies with feeling, pulling Dean against his crotch. While he is so close, he moves his head to brush his lips lightly over Dean's earlobe, returning the whisper. "That, and a lot more."

"Well, then, we've got a lot of time to make up for," Dean answers, pulling back slowly. With a look that promises good things for Sam, Dean trails the back of his hand down Sam's bare chest to his navel, before continuing down, over the waistband of Sam's boxers.

Sam, unconsciously, holds his breath in anticipation. When Dean's fingers brush against his erection, Sam releases his breath on a quiet moan.

Dean continues to lightly tease as he outlines Sam's cock with his fingers, running up and down his length, loving the reactions he is getting from his little brother. He expects Sam to complain that he's going too slow or touching too lightly, but the only word he utters is "Dean", drawing the name out in a breathy plea. It isn't a request to pick up the pace, though; Dean quickly realises that Sam likes the slow pace; likes the tease. A sly smile broadens into a smirk and he leans into Sam, licking and then kissing his exposed neck. "I just learned something about you, Sammy." When Sam opens his eyes, Dean continues. "You like being teased, don't you, baby brother."

Sam looks into Dean's eyes, playful at discovering a secret, and gives him a self-conscious smile. "Maybe. And maybe I'm just enjoying the fact that my dreams are finally coming true."

Dean's hand stops its torment temporarily, and he just watches Sam for a moment. The direction in which his thoughts are now taking him causes him to harden further and he rolls his hips very slightly against Sam in response. "Right," he says at last, "if you say one more girly thing like that, I'm gonna take that to mean that you want to bottom, Samantha…whenever it happens." He adds the last words in a slightly less confident tone.

Matching Dean's stare, Sam's smile starts with a quirk of the mouth, before blossoming into a grin. "In that case…I love you, pookie."


	9. Chapter 9

Stunned, Dean blinks at him. "Are you serious?"

With just the slightest shift behind his eyes, Sam's playful grin changes into something intense. "Very."

For long moments Dean searches Sam's face. Seeming to find what he needed to see, he brings his palm up to cup Sam's cheek and brings their lips together in a warm, sensual embrace. Confused, Sam opens to the kiss, his mind spinning with the possibilities of what is going on in his brother's brain. As Dean's mouth moves over his, Sam's thoughts melt into the soft, wet heat. Distracted, Sam doesn't feel Dean's hand slide up the nape of his neck until his head is pulled back by the strong grip in his hair.

Sam's eyes fly open. His body shudders as the bolt of desire shoots from his roots to his cock. All that playfulness flashes into need. "Dean."

Looking down at the raw lust on his brother's face, Dean tightens his grip and moves against Sam in ways that has his brain packing up and joining the party going south. Soon Sam is panting and pawing at Dean's boxers to get at more skin.

As Dean continues his soft assault, he growls into Sam's ear, "You like this, Sammy?"

Sam moans deep in his throat and begs breathlessly, "Bed?"

Not wanting to break the spell now that Dean finally seems to be getting with the program, Sam lets his brother pull him out of the chair and back him towards the bed. As they move, Sam pushes Dean's boxers off, wraps his huge hands around those two delectable mounds, and squeezes. Feeling light-headed, he gulps in lungful after lungful of the Dean-laced air as he mouths every inch of skin he can reach.

When they reach the bed, Dean hesitates but Sam doesn't notice. Dean smiles smugly as he sees Sam's dazed look and follows him down onto the mattress. It feels so good to have Sam's hands and mouth all over him. His skin tingles and warm waves of pleasure ripple out from every touch. He feels oddly pleased and humbled by Sam's unbridled reaction to him. It's not that he hasn't had countless writhing, lust-drunk bodies under him – he has – but this is so different and familiar at the same time. _I shouldn't like this so much. This is my brother. What am I doing?_

The teasing slide of Dean's palm up his calf, across his thigh, and over his boxers has Sam reaching around Dean's neck to bring him close enough to whisper desperately against his lips, "Take them off."

Dean watches as inch by inch of not-so-little brother is revealed as he drags the fabric off his jutting hip bones. The tender skin cupped there between the bone and the curls catches his eyes and he can't stop himself from trailing his fingertips over it just to see if it is as soft as it looks. Sam's abs buck and twitch as the fabric is tossed aside and is replaced by his brother's curious, questing fingers.

"Oh, god. Dean, get the lube. I can't wait anymore. I need . . . please. Get the lube."

_Lube?_ Dean's hands still and lift. Fireworks spark and burst low in his belly as he backs off the bed.

_What am I doing?_

"In my bag. In the outside pocket . . . Dean?"

Seeing the look on Dean's face, Sam realizes what's happened. Cursing, Sam swings his long legs off the bed and stalks to the bathroom.

The slam of the door startles Dean back to reality.

"Sonuvabitch."

He scrubs his face with his hand and sighs. Relieved to find the door to the bathroom unlocked, he pushes it open and peers inside. Sam is standing braced against the chipped porcelain sink, head bowed to his chest, hair fluttering as he rocks back and forth.

Stepping closer, Dean reaches toward him, but stops at the pained snarl from his brother.

"Don't touch me."

"Sam."

"Don't touch me unless you mean it, Dean. I can't take anymore. You either want me or you don't. Stop jerking me around."

"I just . . ."

"No. No, Dean. I'm not doing this again. I am not going to make you want this. I won't force you."

"Sammy, please . . ."

"Look – if you don't . . . it . . . it's OK. We'll stop and . . . and . . . forget everything."

"Is that what you want?"

"No! Damn it. I want you so bad I'm going out of my mind here, but I won't make you do something you don't want to do. You've had to suffer that enough in your life. I won't do it to you, too. I've been pushing you and I'm sorry. I want to make you happy but . . . but it looks like I'm not. So we'll stop. I'll stop. Just . . . just give me a minute. OK? Just . . . I need a minute."

Dean takes a few steps toward the door, steps back and pauses. He looks at Sam and opens his mouth to say something but Sam doesn't see. He's still folded in over himself and, despite the dejected stance, the only thing Dean can think is how beautiful his brother is. Dean falls against the door frame and sinks to floor. With his elbows against his knees and hands holding his head he moans softly and murmurs something too low for Sam to hear.

"Say again?"

"I don't want you to stop."

"Could have fooled me."

"I'm scared."

Dean looks over to find Sam staring over at him in confusion.

"I'm scared, OK? I do want this. Us. And that scares me. I've never done any of this before. The two men together thing. The relationship thing. What if I do it wrong? What if I hurt you? What if I screw things up? What if something happens and we aren't 'we' anymore? What if I can't fix it this time? I can't lose you, Sam. I just can't."

Sam sighs and slides to floor with his back against the tub. "Why do you always think that it all falls to you? The thing about being an 'us' is that it mean that we are both in it together, Dean. We work it out together. It's not about you getting it right. It's about us working at it together. I've never had sex with a man either. So I'm nervous, too, OK? All I know is that I've never felt like this before. Your hands on me makes me feel things I thought didn't exist."

Glancing over, Sam sees the pained look on Dean's face and huffs, "Yeah, we're having a chick-flick moment so suck it up and deal with it. You could have had your tongue down my throat and your dick up my ass right now, but you chose to have a chat on the bathroom floor instead."

"Sam!"

"Forget about the what-ifs. We don't have the answers and we can't tell the future. All we can do is deal with what we have in front of us right now. Like always. Answer me this, Dean, and mean it. Do you want me?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to continue what we started?"

"Jeez . . . OK. Yes."

"OK, then. Come on." Sam hauls himself off the floor and strides purposefully into the bedroom. Dean groans as he gets up. When he enters the room, he finds Sam digging in his duffel bag. Unsure about what to do next, Dean hovers near the foot of the bed. After finding what he was looking for, Sam turns and fixes Dean with a determined stare. In three steps, Sam stands in front of Dean with a bottle of lube balanced in his open hand between them. "New rule. Shooter with the lube greases the barrel. Choose."

"Bitch." Dean growls as he snatches the bottle from under his brother's challenging smirk. "Lie down."

"Jerk." With a barking laugh, Sam flops onto the bed. Dean shakes his head and lies next to him. Sam smiles and gently pushes at Dean's cheek to get him to look him straight in the eyes. "You still want to top?"

"Yeah."

"OK, so here is the plan. We're gonna make out for a while to get back in the mood. You are going to touch me – everywhere – until you feel comfortable. And then you are going to take the lube, squirt some on your fingers, and you are going to prep me adding one finger at a time when it feels like I can handle it. You got it?"

"I guess. I . . . yeah. OK."

"Good. Now kiss me."

"So bossy."

"Mmm. Still waiting."

Chuckling, Dean lowers his mouth to Sam's and yanks his body closer. As they kiss and let their hands roam freely over each other, Dean stops worrying about the right moves and rightness or wrongness of what they are doing and just lets himself enjoy the moment. He grins madly at discovering that he isn't the only one that has freckles and pounces greedily on every spot he finds. With every moan and near giggle he manages to stroke out of Sam, another knot of fear and self-loathing unties in his belly. Finally, jittery with equal measure nerves and anticipation, he slides his fingertips over the spot that unnerved him the most. Sam jolts in his arms with a surprised moan making him grin.

"Good, Sammy?"

"Don't . . . don't stop . . ."

He continues caressing for a few minutes and then reaches for the lube. Taking a deep breath, he carefully presses the first finger in. He doesn't realize that he's still holding that breath as he watches for any sign that he's hurting Sam. When Sam's lips part, both of them exhale sharply together. After a few strokes, Sam starts to move with him. Soon Dean adds another and then another until they are both panting against each other.

"How do we know if you're ready?"

"I . . ." Sam moans long and low, "I don't know. Don't care. Need you now."

Dean gently pulls away, jumps off the bed, and quickly digs through his bag.

"Dean?"

On his way back, he holds up a condom. Kneeling on the bed, Dean rips open the wrapper, but before he can put it on he throws back his head and moans as Sam wraps his lips around his cock. It doesn't take long for Dean to start grunting and fucking into Sam's mouth despite his hands contrarily trying to push him away.

"Jesus, Sam."

"Looked like you needed to harden up a little."

In response, Dean shoves Sam on to his belly. Sam watches over his shoulder as Dean slips on the condom, slicks himself up, and curls over him to whisper in his ear, "You ready?"

"No turning back."

"Not going to."

After the first moments of discomfort and soft, comforting words, they begin moving slowly against each other. They shift and grip and learn how to give each other pleasure. Soon the slap of flesh against flesh mingles with their guttural cries.

Dean's thighs start to shake as his orgasm approaches. He slides his hand across Sam's abdomen and grasps his erection. A few firm strokes and he's rewarded with a few forceful, frantic bucks, a shocked gasp, and a pulsing heat wetting his palm. Dean grins when he realizes that he has surprised Sam into climaxing before him. A feral thrill courses through him making him thrust harder into the still clenching muscles. As his brother's body starts to go pliant under him, his entire body draws taut, stealing his breath, and with one last thrust releases with a painful explosion of voice and seed.

When he turns back from ditching the condom, Dean laughs at Sam's blissed out face. "You OK?"

"Mmm. Yeah. Been a while so . . . yeah. Shhh. Busy basking here."

Dean grins and fits himself against the long, warm length of his brother's body.

"You're a snuggler?"

"Shut up."


End file.
